Haunting Pursuit
by ellibobelli
Summary: Bella Swan had an ax, gave her mother 40 whacks. When she realized what she'd done? She gave her father 41...Bella learns to deal with newfound bloodlust by finding hope in an ax. So what happens when the police come knocking, asking about...murder?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One, Bella POV**

"_Lizzie Borden had an axe,_

_Gave her mother forty whacks._

_When she realized what she'd done?_

_She gave her father forty-one."_

"Lizzie Borden's story shocked the country – how could a sweet, wholesome girl commit such gruesome and vile crimes? Killing her own flesh and blood with an axe? Questions like these swirled around everyone's head at the time. Evidence was there; not physical, but it all came together to make sense. So why was she innocent instead of guilty?

"The hot day of August 4, 1892, proved to begin as normally as possible. Lizzie's step-mother was at home, and her father was at work. But something was off – whether it be in the air, or merely a crazy twitch in Lizzie's mind, she had the impulse to kill. While her mother was fixing the sheets in the guest bedroom, Lizzie snuck up, carrying a hatchet, and continued to brutally slaughter her stepmother. Later, after her father arrived home and was stretched out for a nap, Lizzie killed him with the same murder weapon.

"Lizzie, in the shockingly low time frame of ten minutes, managed to remove any blood from her hair, stockings, and even the axe. At some point, she burned the dress that she wore and thought up a cover story.

"Lizzie was trialed, and released as innocent. It was a surprise to many – it wasn't a secret that she detested her stepmother, and even her own father. He, after he married Abby, took Lizzie and her sister, Emma, out of his will, depriving them of any money and property that they would have aqui-"

"Time."

I cursed under my breath at my long-windedness, and slumped into the super-cozy couch that took up most of my living room. "I'm never gonna finish this in time, Jazz. The project is due in two days, and…" I trailed off, sighing. I loved English and History, don't get me wrong, but seriously. What was the point of this project?

Jasper Hale, the best friend I'd had in my not so great history of friends, sat down next to me, stretching out his feet to the end of the couch, and laying his head on my lap. I didn't mind this kind of behavior – I knew Jasper liked me, and, honestly, I kind of liked him, too. Jazz was incredibly handsome – with honey blonde hair that was long-ish and fell into his vibrant blue eyes. He was tall, lean, and muscular, one of the nicest guys in the world.

Jasper and I had been friends since he moved in next door over ten years ago. As we got older, we would sneak out on the roof and just sit there, star gazing. We still do, sometimes, but, mostly, we just go out and have fun. He told me liked me a couple of weeks ago – I had a hard saying that I wanted to be just friends, but he accepted with grace.

"You'll be fine, Bella. Seriously. You're, like, the most ideal student there is," Jasper said in his weakening Southern accent, looking up at me through his lashes. He was only partly right, though. I was a good student – I had a four point oh GPA, and I tutored, and helped the teachers after school. But…I wasn't ideal. Everybody expected me to be perfect, to be the "A" plus student that they could easily cheat off. I wasn't, though – I was as plain Jane, as the plainest person in the world, and had my share of personal experiences – not all great, either.

I sighed again, leaning my head against the back of the sofa. "I don't know, Jasper. My oral is such a mess, and the report is only half typed…" I began a mental list of all the things I needed to get done: the oral, the report, the pictures, my math homework, cooking dinner, doing the dishes…

"Bella, stop thinking of all the things you need to do. It'll only stress you out more." Jasper could read my emotions pretty clearly, and had a knack of calming me down – or anyone for that matter. He could especially tell when I was stressed – apparently, I scrunched my nose and bit my nails.

I didn't buy it, though, nope. Not for one second.

"I'm not stressing out." I said firmly. Jasper snorted and rolled his eyes.

I sighed in defeat.

"Fine, then. What do you propose that I do?" There wasn't much to do considering the rain was falling too hard outside to go anywhere, and we – Jazz and I – didn't have many friends besides each other.

"I propose…that you go to dinner with me this Friday," Jasper smiled brilliantly, looking up at me through his lashes. This was something, in the back of my mind, that I was expecting. Him asking me out was such an inside joke between us, and so inevitable. He always knew the answer, anyway.

"Yes. If I can bring my imaginary friend, Meredith the Elephant,"

"I didn't know that elephants could be named Meredith. I always assumed Dumbo, or Jumbo, or…"

"Funbo?"

There was a moment of pause as he considered this.

Finally, he said, "Yes. Funbo." I snickered, Jasper laughing lightheartedly along with me, flashing his extremely white teeth.

But our fun-fest stopped abruptly when the front door opened, allowing thick droplets of rain and icy wind to blow through the open door. Jasper immediately moved to the other end of the couch, taking a rigid and formal pose. I sighed and started organizing my notes on the coffee table.

"Hello, Isabella, Jasper," my mother, Renee, said as she walked into the living room, her clothes dripping with fresh rain drops. She smiled elegantly – something my mother hadn't been capable of doing before she married Phil – and took off her wet jacket.

The one thing that annoyed me about my mother is that…she was different. Once she married Phil, it was like my outgoing, scatterbrained, life-loving mother didn't exist anymore. Phil had such an influence on her, and not necessarily for the better. When it was just the two of us, Renee and I, it was me who acted as the adult and her who was always trying new things, always getting into stuff that could potentially scar her for life. But when Renee was with Phil, it was a different story. She was somehow more grown-up, more independent. We just didn't connect the way we used to.

The other thing is that she insisted everyone to call me _Isabella_, my true name. Before she married Phil, the rich, handsome man that every girl in the room swooned over, she called me Bella. But now, she's so elegant. So formal and proper. She even made Jasper start calling me Isabella; my own best friend!

"Hey, Renee," I said in monotone, without looking up from my notes. I didn't even bother calling her "mom" anymore. She wasn't my mom – my mom was fun, and happy, and didn't need a guy to give that to her. My mom wasn't so freaking reserved.

"Hey, kids." And then Phil came into the picture.

Phil was a nice guy, for the most part. Good-looking, caring, affectionate. He truly loved Renee, and she truly loved him. He didn't quite care for me so much, though. It never went as far as abuse, but there were a few intense verbal confrontations. Renee didn't know about these - as far as she was concerned, Phil and I got along together great.

Phil also had a lot of money, all of which went straight to Renee, which is the exact reason that my mother went all prim and proper.

Prim, proper, and mean. Renee practically shunned me now – having kids was _way_ over-rated, I guess.

"Phil," I said curtly. From my peripheral vision, I saw Jasper nod vaguely in his direction, frowning. Jasper hated seeing me like this – less Bella-like, and more Isabella-like.

"So, Isabella, what's for dinner?" Renee's voice echoed in from the kitchen, and I heard some pots and pans being moved around.

"Pizza," I answered languidly. "It's in the oven, staying warm. And I'll be in my room, studying."

Jasper stood up and gathered his things, walking up the stairs to my small and almost useless bedroom. I was about to follow when Phil stopped me. "Isabella." He said, grabbing my arm. It wasn't a friendly gesture. "I'd prefer it if Jasper didn't stay. No boys should be in my daughter's room." Venom coated his voice, and I shuddered.

"Yes, sir," There was no use in arguing with him when Renee was in the house – she would blame it all on me. Her stupid mistake child, her kid that couldn't do anything right.

Whatever.

I shrugged out of Phil's grasp and walked slowly up the stairs, flipping idly through my notebook. Jasper was already in my room when I made it in a minute later, lounging on my tiny bed. I fell down next to him, huffing and sighing loudly.

"Sorry, Jazz. You got to go. Mr. Big-Shot says so." I said, turning to face him. His face was a serene mask of calm, a slight smile lifting his lips, and his eyes were closed.

"Yes, ma'am." He chuckled lightly and sat up, straightening his hair. "So…I'll see you Friday, right? With Meredith. Dinner, just the three of us." Jasper walked over to the door and opened it without breaking eye contact with me.

I smiled widely and nodded, getting up and giving him a hug. "See you, Bells," he said as he shut the door behind him and left. I listened as the door front door creaked open, then shut, and, from my window, I watched him walk along the sidewalk until he was out of sight.

Then I was truly alone.

No one likes being alone. Sure, people say they do, but, really. Who wants to be shunned, who wants to be completely ignored in society? No one, not even me. But, of course, with Phil, it just wasn't possible to have a real family dinner. Or even act like a real family for that matter. Renee and Phil ignored me for the rest of the night, and, without Jazz, I was just stuck in my room.

Every night was like this, though. I think I was actually going slightly insane.

I sighed and started going through my notes again, my thoughts drifting from Jasper to Lizzie Borden and her tale.

Actually, her story sounded like mine, in a psychotic and twisted way. A marriage, a hatred. Crazy thoughts taking over the mind. And as I started to type on my second rate laptop, I couldn't shake those crazy thoughts.

Images of me slaughtering Renee and Phil, of blood splattering on the ceiling and on me, of Jasper finding out. The pictures haunted me as I wrote out Lizzie's story with a bizarrely detailed description, sending a shudder through me. Only this time, it wasn't a shudder of fear, like with Phil.

It was one of anticipation.

**XXX**

**Ta dah! Isn't it absoluetly horrible?**

**Yeah, thought so. I don't know why I bother posting anymore. Everything I write is just getting worse and worse...sigh.**

**I know this is really bad, but I'm really excited writing it. And...I didn't want to keep it to myself. So, yeah.**

**I'm also writing another fic, and will be posting that soon, along with the next chapter of Paper Walls.**

**Oh. A quick note - I will be writing some...darker things in the very near future on this fic. So I purposely wrote this chapter as a really silly and quirky one. Just to let you know.**

**But, maybe if you reivew, I'll return the favor. I'm in the mood to read some good fics. :D\**

Elli


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two, Bella POV**

It wasn't that I was afraid of whatever was chasing me, but it was that I didn't have anything to defend myself. Something besides my weak fists might have been nice.

So I kept running, running, running away. From what? I didn't know. But the…thing had a mutilated, bloody skull – with no face, I guess - and it's body was torn and in ragged pieces, with thick, red liquid dripping to the concrete of the road. I shuddered and willed my feet faster, until I felt I like I was going to drop from exhaustion.

The thing kept chasing me, and grew closer with every step it took – I could hear the loud, echo-y footsteps that traveled ever closer to my weak body; but when I turned around to appraise how long I had to live, the thing seemed to be gliding just above the ground, almost like a ghost; it made no sound as I looked at it in horror.

The night seeped around me, engulfing me into a claustrophobic mass of blackness...it crushed me, making it difficult to breathe. I wheezed and gasped for breath, my lungs burning for the air it desperately needed…so if the thing didn't kill me, the blackness would?

But, it wasn't night or blackness. I was in a room, somehow, suddenly, and holding a hatchet. It was heavy in my hands, and covered in the same sticky-looking stuff that _the thing_ was covered in.

I looked down, searching for a reason of my being in that particular room, with that particular red liquid staining my hands and clothes.

There was a mangled body laying at my feet, it's skull crushed in, blood oozing from every inch of the many open wounds. Correction – there were two bodies, and they both looked alike, in the matter of the gashes.

But, one was a girl, the other a boy. One looked awfully like my mother, the other looked strangely like Phil…

I gasped and dropped the hatchet, letting it fall to the ground with a loud _thud._ I brushed against my leg, tearing the fragile skin as it skidded down my leg. Pain shot through me, and blood fell from the new lesion. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and mixed with the blood that was everywhere…the blood that was pooling on the floor, the blood that had made its way to my face, somehow, someway. Was it my family's blood that had sputtered when I _killed_ them?

_How could you?!_ My conscious screamed at me. _How could you kill your own parents?!_ I started shaking violently, and lost my balance. I fell, too, just like the axe, only I didn't hear the shrill _thud_, like I should have when my body should have hit the floor. I didn't hit the floor.

I fell through the ground, my head spinning, and the same, bright darkness as before eclipsed me. I fell, fell, fell, feeling the presence and the eyes of the ghost-like thing watching me. Falling. Through the hole that had magically appeared.

I wasn't thinking clearly anymore. My mind was a blur, my fall a blur. Everything around me was just darkness…

The bed, the closet doors, the clothes scattered along the floor. The secondhand laptop that was silhouetted slightly darker against the outline of my desk. It was all black, but it wasn't the absolutely creepy kind of night-ish black as from my dream.

So I was officially awake? None of that really, actually happened? I shook my head and took a deep breath, sitting up slowly. My head was pounding, and there was dull pain in my leg, where the axe had fallen. In my dream. Which wasn't real. My heart was beating erratically against my ribcage, the thumping resounding in my ears. I was shaking, and the room was spinning.

But, nothing was chasing me. Nothing was watching as I fell through a hole, and I hadn't killed anyone.

Yet?

No. I refused to think I was going to kill Renee and Phil. Or, at least Renee.

No; neither.

Why was I arguing with myself? It wasn't like I was truly, in fact, going to kill my parents. That idea was just downright absurd. Stupid. Illogical. Crazy. Psychotic. Extreme. Morbid. Crazy. Psychotic…

I gulped a breath of air and held it as I glanced at my clock; it read five o'clock on the dot, but it was the little calendar that displayed the date that had me frozen. It was August third. A day before the anniversary of Lizzie Borden's killings.

I let out my breath.

It wasn't like August the third would be any different from any other day; it was a Friday. A school day. A normal day with tests, and homework, and Jasper, and food. The day wouldn't hold any sort of planning that would ultimately lead to murder on August the fourth, a Saturday. A normal Saturday, with sleeping in, and reading, and cooking, and cleaning.

I let a single humorless laugh escape my lips.

Hah.

Right.

_Normal._

I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and stood up, glad to realize that I wasn't shaking so badly anymore. Renee and Phil were still sleeping, so I stalked my way to the bathroom, peeking over my shoulder whenever the floorboards would creak. Talk about paranoia.

Flipping on the light switch and closing the door gently after me, I glared at myself in the mirror; I had to hold onto the sink for support. I was so pale, unhealthy looking. My brown eyes were bloodshot and swam with moisture, and beads of sweat dripped down from my forehead. I was most definitely…just…average. Nothing special. I looked like an innocent girl that got good grades and only had one friend.

The kind of girl who _wouldn't _commit brutal crimes.

There was slightly frantic look in my eyes as I stumbled my way away from the mirror and turned on the hot water of the shower. I let the water turn rigidly hot under my hands before I stripped and stepped in. The scorching heat penetrated my body, cleansing the wild fantasies and the feeling of going crazy…enough, anyway. At least they weren't eating away at my insides anymore.

It was this incredibly gruesome fascination I had with Lizzie Borden. Her story seemed to fit so well with mine; her personality was described as kind, nice, wholesome, like mine. Her maid, Bridget, would always do what Lizzie asked her to, just because she adored Lizzie's sense of right and wrong.

_My _morals were so out of whack now, though. If I hadn't read about Lizzie and her tale, I wouldn't have the urge the kill. I wouldn't have the want, no, the _need_, to feel the blood spilling on my hands. I would probably faint at the rust and iron smell of it, if I was being normal.

Forgetting about the heat of the water, I quickly washed myself off and stepped out of the shower, my mind filled once again with the wild thoughts of murder. Would they ever go away? Would they disappear if I satisfied the need?

I toweled off and changed, running a brush though my hair and brushing my teeth. By the time I was downstairs, it was six. Great. Only an hour and a half until I had to go to school. I had to present my project today, though – I didn't know if I could do it. How much would I stutter, how much would I get tangled up in my words, thinking about the next day?

Jasper would be there, and though I couldn't tell him about what I was experiencing – the thoughts, the needs, the wants – he would understand. He would tell me how well I did and tell me that I was awesome. Just like Jasper did with every other project.

But he would hold the curiosity, and he would realize that something was troubling me. He would be persistent about it, too; always asking me questions, and badgering me for information.

So, I had to be strong. Even if it's just for Jasper. Right?

I sighed and ate my breakfast in silence, swirling the milk in cereal and eating each Cheerio one at a time. Distraction. Yeah, I wasn't going crazy. Just..distraction.

I kept distracting myself with little tasks – washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen, doing some laundry…moderately quiet things. I wouldn't want to wake the Queen and King.

So when seven thirty rolled around, I almost literally ran out of the house. I started the engine on my truck with a deafening roar, and coaxed out about fifty miles an hour on it. It was ancient, red, and rusty, but it was nice truck. Just slow and loud.

And not crazy, like me. Nope. Just normal, normal, normal.

I was one of the first ones to arrive at school. After pulling into a spot in the parking lot, I cut the engine to cease the noise, but I stayed in the truck, listening to silence roll in thick waves around me. It was one of those loud silences that pierce through the air and make you slightly dizzy. But I didn't move. Distraction, right?

A couple of cars began arriving, but none of them were Jasper's – he was who I needed to talk to at that moment. So I stayed confined in the cozy cab of my truck, waiting impatiently for the sleek, silver motorcycle to appear. I closed my eyes, trying to relax…

But I only saw the horrific images of _the thing_ running behind me, of the mutilated skull that didn't have a face, of the blood dripping onto the road. I only saw the gruesome clips of Renee and Phil's dead body, their own blood pooling around my feet. I saw the hatchet that was covered in the sticky red liquid, I felt the pain as it glided down my leg…

And the incredibly raw feeling of being crushed by the blackness…I shuddered.

But, for whatever reason I couldn't myself away from the pictures. They were so horrid and disturbing, but they lulled me in. And I don't why.

Three soft raps pulled my from daydreaming. I gasped, jumping in my seat, and prepared to defend myself. But it was only Jasper. He smiled warily through the glass of the window. Great. He could already tell something was wrong.

I opened the door and got out, pulling Jasper into a hug. I immediately felt a lot calmer, a lot less frantic, and a lot less paranoid. I sighed into his shoulder before letting go.

"Hello to you, too," he said, running his hand through his messy hair. I giggled as the bell rang, signaling the start of first hour.

Which was English.

Which was when my Lizzie project was due.

Oh dear.

I chewed nervously on my lip as Jasper and I walked to building three, the English room. I could fee the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and my hands were beginning to shake. _You can do this, Bella. Just don't think about it._

Don't think about it. Don't think about it…

I was hardly conscious as Jasper and I took our seats in the back of the classroom, and I hardly paid attention as people started going up, presenting their projects. Helen Keller, Martin Luther King Jr., JFK. Famous people who did good things. So why did I choose the murderer?

"Um, Bella Swan. You're next,"

How had the other presentations gone fast? Why was I going? No! Other people had to present, too. Not just me…but as I looked around the classroom, I realized that everyone had gone.

Oh. So I was last.

Jasper gave an encouraging smile as I slowly walked up to the front of the classroom, my note cards shaking in my hands. You can do this, Bella. You can do this…

"I, uh, did Lizzie Borden," My first four words, and I was already stuttering? "Lizzie Borden's story shocked the country – how could a sweet, wholesome girl -" I was so aware of how much my voice was trembling as I recited those words. Sweet. Wholesome. "…commit such gruesome and vile crimes?" Gruesome. Vile. "Killing her own flesh and blood with an axe? Questions like these swirled around everyone's head at the time. Evidence was there; not physical, but it all came together to make sense. So why was Lizzie proven innocent?"

I continued with my two minute speech, saying everything just as I had practiced it. I didn't falter on my words too badly, but there was the definite quiver in my voice as I talked.

The class clapped languidly as I finished my presentation and took my seat. My breathing was ragged and coming in short gasps – I felt like someone was trying to strangle me. The black from my dream…suffocating me.

With a slight edge of hysteria, I took my seat and stared ahead for the rest of class, not paying attention, not caring. My eyes were glazed over and blurry, and my hearing was slightly impaired.

It was only a two minute speech, though. Why did it have me so worked up? Why did I feel like I couldn't breath, why did it feel like someone was watching me all the time? I was terrified for myself, for Renee. For Phil, even. For Jasper, for Charlie. I didn't want to become a serial killer, I didn't want to have these petrifying dreams and nightmares every other night.

It's not like I really wanted to murder someone. It's not that killing would solve the many issues I had in my life, and I couldn't say that killing Phil would make my life any easier. I had to be thinking about Renee – how could this affect _her?_ She would be so devastated…

The bell rang and I, in a daze, stood up and packed my things. I wasn't planning on going to next hour, or the hour after that. Jasper could deal with my abrupt silence and absence, right? He would ask questions later, but, I had to go home. Now. I couldn't stand the fear, or the anticipation, I couldn't stand the _want_ and the _need_, that was eating away at me.

Because somehow, murdering someone – two people - didn't sound so terrorizing as it did an hour ago.

**XXX**

**The fateful chapter is coming up! Will Bella kill her own parents? Is she really going insane? Haha, yeah, probably. Ah, well. **

**I hope I didn't go overboard with the crazy thing - but I was really trying to convey how much Bella was conflicting with herself about this situation. And, if you're curious, I was listening to Emtpy Chairs at Empty Tables (Les Mis - the Origanal London Cast) when I got random inspiration to write the dream.**

**And, um, yeah. Review. Please and thanks. Take a guess....about what's going to happen to Jasper. Cause I know what's gonna happen to him, but what do you guys think? Mwhahaha!**

**Elli **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three, Bella POV**

My phone didn't stop vibrating in my pocket as I drove thunderously down the road to my house. I knew who was calling – Jasper – without having to look at the caller ID. I just hoped that he wouldn't try to come after me. Every part of my body ached at the fact that I would probably have to…kill…Jasper if he saw anything that I was about to do. Or maybe I wasn't going to do anything. Maybe I was just catching the flu and the sickness was making me completely delirious. That would account for the quiver in my voice when I spoke, the weird tossing in my stomach, the pounding in my head, and the all around horrible feeling that I had. Right?

My phone vibrated again, making me jump in the small cab of my truck. It beeped, alerting me that I had a new voicemail, and I slowly exhaled, relaxing ever so slightly. Maybe hearing Jasper's voice would calm me down a little, even though I _was not_ planning on killing Renee. I was going home because I felt sick and had a fever. I let out another breath as I turned onto my street, the familiar houses of my neighborhood flying by, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I barely had it open before childhood reminiscences danced across my memory as I passed through the neighborhood; the time when Jazz and I had been so innocent and care-free, climbing trees that I consequently fell out of, hiding behind bushes during intense games of hide and seek. I even smiled a little when I passed the big, yellow house with the one window that was different from the rest – Jazz had thrown a baseball badly and it crashed through the "heavy duty" glass of the living room window.

I sniffed and held back threatening tears, glad that I had finally reached my house. I turned into the driveway and parked my truck, cutting off the engine. But as much as I was pleading for silence at that moment so I could clear my head, an annoying hum was buzzing in my ears – the after effects of my incredibly loud truck, perhaps? I really hoped so. Because I _was not_ going insane.

I took a deep breath and glanced down at my phone – new, sleek, and silver, it had been a gift from Jasper for Christmas last year. Of course, I was technologically challenged and didn't start using it until very recently, when Jazz finally showed me how it worked – and wasn't surprised to find that I had four missed calls and one new voicemail. Four of the four calls were from Jasper. The one voicemail was from Jasper. I held back a sob that ripped through my chest at how much Jasper really cared for me; I was so amazingly lucky to have him. I put the phone up to my ear and pressed the "go" button; immediately, Jasper's voice filled the cramped air and drowned out the hum.

"Bella, I know you probably have a good reason has to why you're no longer at school, and I won't pester you for that reason. But I'm really worried about you, Bells. Call me when you can." The salty tears were already dripping down my cheek as I slowly let the phone fall from my shaking hand. It clattered to the ground of my truck, but I didn't hear the sound. I wouldn't do anything rash – today or ever – for Jasper. I could put on a show with fake smiles galore; I could deal with the misery of my parents for two more years. Two years, then I was free.

But the end of two years felt so far away. Two years of Phil and Renee? Of my mom that wasn't my mom anymore and of my step-father who would gladly beat me if he got the chance and reason to? Two years of being the kid who can't do anything right, of being the rotten and spoiled child, of being, ultimately, a metaphorical slave for my parents? No. I was independent, a trait that my mom had always valued – when she was still my mom. I was strong and didn't have to deal with them if I didn't want to.

But murder, gruesome, brutal murder, was not the way to go. I would not fall to that level of loathsomeness – it would be like fighting fire with water, the easy way out. Why not beat around the bush fight fire with itself? I could be just as mean to them as they were being to me. But would the new Bella take a toll on my friendship with Jasper? That was something I wouldn't risk…

I shook my head to free myself of my internal conflict and leaned my cheek against the steering wheel, closing my eyes. The images wouldn't leave me, though; the grisly, unrefined images of Lizzie Borden. They flashed across my closed lids, disappearing into the infinite blackness before reappearing again seconds later. A cycle of revolting pictures.

Was it bad that I imaged myself holding the axe?

I let out a whimper and forced myself to open the door and step out into the rain. But I couldn't make myself take a step; my legs felt like they weighed one hundred pounds.

Come on, Bella. You can do this. Just make the steps to the garage. There's a pretty axe waiting for you there.

_But I don't want to kill anybody!_ I screamed to my subconscious.

You're right, you don't. You can go inside right now, say you don't feel well, and deal for the next two years. It won't be hard.

_Sure it won't. I'd only have to deal with the fact that I want to kill my parents every waking and dreaming moment of my life for those two years. _

That's why you should kill them. Now. Go. You're wasting time just standing here and arguing with yourself.

"Just confirmation to the fact that I'm insane." I muttered to myself. I sighed, shaking away the voices, and took one step forward. Then another. Then another.

"Isabella? Is that you? What are you doing home early?" I froze at the sound of my mother's irritated voice. "Isabella?"

Crap. I wasn't planning on her hearing me or coming out to get me. Crap, crap, crap. "Yeah, it's me," I weakly shouted back. I could see Renee's faint shadow on the pavement of the driveway and I grimaced. She was standing on our porch, arms crossed, waiting for me. She wasn't happy that I was skipping school.

"Isabella Swan, what are you doing?" I took a deep breath and forced myself to walk to the porch, glad that it was raining so that Renee wouldn't be able to see my tears.

I was right – she was standing with her arms crossed, and, to put it lightly, she looked pissed. Her hair was pulled back and she looked like she had been doing a lot of cleaning, or cooking. Her eyes were narrowed and her voice was venom. "Are you skipping school?" She accused.

"No, Renee." I could see her flinch at my reluctance to call "mom". It really hurt her to have me call her Renee. Good. "I wasn't feeling well, so I came home. I think I might be getting the flu." I bit my lip and hoped that my lie wasn't transparent. Pain washed across Renee's face as she considered my words.

Finally, she sighed, relaxing her rigid stance. "Go inside, then, and dry off. You're just gonna get more sick if you stay out in the rain."

I smiled a little and ducked through the front door, grateful when a blast of heat greeted me. I didn't realize how _icy_ the air had been outside. "Do you want some soup?" Renee asked as I took off my drenched sweater.

I meekly shook my head. "I think I'm just going to go sleep," I whispered, suddenly very tired. Faintly, I saw my mother nod her head curtly, and stalk back to the kitchen. I stumbled my way up the stairs and into my room, tripping twice on my way there. I quickly stripped and changed into warm clothes, not bothering with a shower, and collapsed onto my bed. I was just so tired…

I didn't dream. I didn't have a nightmare. I didn't see any pictures. I didn't imagine myself killing my parents. Instead, I heard voices, one girl and one boy. Soft, distant voices that were yelling at each other. Or maybe they were yelling at me? I couldn't tell what they were saying, though – I only caught a word every now and then. I had a feeling that those words were the most important to the conversation, however. I heard my name a few times, which led me to think that they weren't talking to me directly. But maybe they knew I was listening?

"…she has to…good for her…" This was the boy speaking. The voice sounded so familiar, but, yet, I couldn't place it. It sounded almost like he was from the South?

"No." The girls voice, which I didn't recognize in the least.

"Please?"

There was silence then, but I could tell that the two people were still there, somewhere, buried deep in my unconscious state.

I heard the girl take a breath and suddenly, a very sharp looking knife appeared in the blackness. Blood dripped from the blade. The girl whispered two words impassively, her voice like tinkling bells, "Go, Bella."

…

Sunlight slowly drifted through my closed lids and I groaned, pulling my pillow over my head. I was feeling better, but I didn't want to get out of bed. How long had I been sleeping?

_Go, Bella._

I gasped and wearily shot up in my bed. Where had I heard those words before, recently? I couldn't identify the voice, either – it was honey sweet, velvety. No one at my school sounded that perfect.

_Go, Bella!_

It sounded more urgent now. I pulled myself out of bed and staggered my way to the door. I heard my mother's humming floating from the kitchen and my stomach automatically churned. Go, Bella, The voice had said. Go, Bella, and do something rash. Go, Bella, to the garage and grab that pretty little axe. Go, Bella, to the kitchen and slaughter your mother.

_Go, Bella. _

**XXX**

**I actually had a lot of fun writing this, despite how scattered-brained and bad it is. Insane Bella is quite fun. Can you guess the voices that she hears in her dream? Actually, that part was really random and not really relevent to the story, but it drove the plot forward. And it made Bella sound THAT much crazier. Yay.**

**I know that I don't really update anymore, but I had nothing to write this morning, so I thought, "What the hell?" And this was the product of that thought. Haha. But I do have a question: If I were to post another chapter, which I might, would you rather me skip the whole murdering scene (because you know she's gonna do it), or would you rather have me write out all the gruesome details? I have more ideas for option one, but, really, the only difference is that the second one would be longer and a lot more bloody. So the choice is yours. If I get lots of reviews, I'll start writing tonight. :D With love,**

**Elli**


End file.
